Brisé

by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  “Emily and Scott are gone,” my dad mutters as he hangs up the phone.

  I stare at him trying to figure out what he means. I know they’re gone; I watched them leave a few hours ago. “There was an accident at the construction site. The building collapsed, and they had no chance. They were trapped.” My mom is sobbing; my dad is on the verge of a breakdown. I watch them mourning their best friends, and the only thing I can say is, “Phoebe.”

  How the hell do you tell her? Who is going to tell her? “Did you hear me, Luke?” My dad breaks in my thoughts. I shake my head, because I didn’t hear a word he said after he told me they were dead. “Scott’s partner from the firm is on the way to tell Phoebe and go over things with you.” My father never agreed with Scott and Emily’s decision to name me as Phoebe’s guardian when I turned eighteen, but he couldn’t change it. I sure as hell didn’t understand all of it, their reasoning or what it would actually mean, but Mr. Wells just told me nothing would change. I would still look out for the best interest of Phoebe. They didn’t pick my parents because they were usually together: vacations, dinners, and pretty much everything else. If something ever happened, it was likely they would all be together, leaving Phoebe alone. They decided this was a logical scenario, and I signed the paperwork almost two years ago. Never expecting I would ever need it. Mr. Wells said the conversation the two of us had when I turned sixteen made their decision.

  I remember it so well, I was scared to death to approach Phoebe’s dad, but I manned up and did it.

  “Mr. Wells, I’m in love with your daughter.” No pussyfooting around the issue, just straight to the point.

  “We’re all well aware of that, son.” He stood up to get Phoebe’s mom. Emily’s sweet smile and kind eyes met mine as she walked into the room. Just like so many years before. “I couldn’t ask for a better man for my little girl, but you know the concerns with her health, she isn’t guaranteed a long life, and she hasn’t led much of a full life.” I wasn’t sure what he was telling me. Is she sick again?

  “I don’t understand, Sir. Is the leukemia back?” I heard her mom choke back a sob. My heart clenched in my chest, and it seemed my lungs had forgotten their job of pumping oxygen through my body.

  I remember him reaching out and squeezing my shoulder, shaking his head, “No, she’s still in remission. I know you’ve been through it all with us, I just don’t want you to have any illusions as to what life could be like. She loves you, we both know that, and it used to scare me. She’s only thirteen. Grown up in some aspects of life, but still a child in others. Are you sure of your feelings?”

  “I am.” No hesitation, no second-guessing. I know I’m only sixteen, but Phoebe Wells has held my heart in her hands for as long as I can remember. “I understand what you’re saying, but please know I’d never force that on her. I want her to love me just as easily as I do her.”

  “I know that, Lucas. We trust you with her, and that isn’t easy for us. Don’t abuse it.”

  It was then I formulated my plan of allowing her to live the life she had been robbed of, so when she came to me it was on her own free will and not out of familiarity. Of course I shared it with her parents, and while her dad seemed to agree and appreciate it, her mom was pissed. She believed we were once again taking the power away from Phoebe and that at some point we needed to allow her to take some control of her own life. I stop my reminiscing and jolt back to the tragedy at hand.

  “He can’t tell her. I have to.” I know it would kill me to see her pain and feel her devastation, but I needed to be the one to do it. I need to be there for her when she breaks, and she will break. I met with the partner and learned all the plans and provisions her parents had made, what my role was in them, then went outside to wait on her. I had no idea when she would be home, but I know from the moment I tell her, she will never take another step without me. She will never have to face life alone. She has always had a support system around her. With her parents gone I don’t want her to feel displaced or lost. I have a lot of decisions to make and plans to change. Tonight, while a part of her life will change forever, I am going to be there. No more games, no more waiting. From the moment she gets out of the limo, she will never be without me again.

  Waiting is killing me, thinking about the past, what lies ahead for her, on top of everything she has been through. She doesn’t deserve this. God, she doesn’t fucking deserve to have any more pain and heartache in her life. I hear the limo pull up and see her register that I’m waiting on her. She knows something’s wrong, I can see it on her face. She’s ready to flee when I grab her, hold her, and try to anchor her because the words I say next will sink her. “There was an accident, Twinkle.” I choke on the words, unsure of how to get them out of my mouth. “God, I’m so sorry. They were trapped inside when the building collapsed.” With one final deep breath, I utter the words that are going to crush her. “Phoebe, your parents are gone.”

  She tries to pull away, but I hang on tighter. The words haven’t sunk in yet, and I don’t know if it is denial, or she doesn’t understand what I am saying, but I am waiting for her collapse. I look down at her beautiful face, and when she stares in my eyes, the sobs begin. That’s the moment my heart begins to crack. I can’t stand to see her in pain, it guts me, but I can’t fix this, and that just about breaks me. I have to let her live with this, drown in her grief, and just hold her. I can’t do anything else, but be her solace in this storm. If I could take it away from her, switch places with her, I would. It may make me sound like a bastard, since I’ve been the cause of so much of her pain, but I would do anything to stop her tears and take this away. When I feel her body crumble and sag against me, I effortlessly pick her up and carry her inside. I make my way to her room and place her on the bed. She clings to me. Her whimpering crushes me. I have to be strong, I have to be the one to hold her up. I go back out into the living room with her in my arms to sit on the couch, cradling her as close to my body as I can. She continues to cry but doesn’t utter a word. I’m scared that she’s in shock. In an effort to get a response from her, I place a kiss on her temple. I need her to talk to me, I have to figure out what she needs.

  “Luke,” she bellows. I can’t tell her it will be okay, because even if time heals wounds, this one will never close. There is nothing that will heal this; this emptiness will always exist. I am sure each day will get easier, but her life will never be the same again. Each moment, each accomplishment, every milestone, she will feel a void that can never be filled, and I can’t fix that.

  “I’m right here, I won’t leave,” I whisper to her. She clutches me more tightly as if she is trying to climb inside me. She’s shaking. I reach for the blanket behind us, and she cries out. “Promise, I won’t ever leave you again.” I manage to get the blanket wrapped around her. There will be plenty of time to talk later; right now I am giving her the only comfort I can. I pull her against my chest and rub her head like I did years ago, in this exact spot. It doesn’t bring her the same comfort, but at least she isn’t sobbing. The tears are still coming, but the gut-wrenching noises have stopped. I know soon the questions will start.

  About an hour later, my parents come in the door. My mom has pulled herself together trying to be strong for Phoebe, like Emily would have wanted. We sit in silence for a while waiting on Phoebe to set the tone of what will transpire. If she wants to sit in silence then we will, if she wants to talk, then we will. “Did they die together?”

  “Yes.” My parents let me take the lead. They’re just here for support.

  “Was it fast?” I can’t answer these questions. Nobody really knows that. It took over an hour to find their bodies. I lie. “As far as they know it was.” These aren’t really the questions she has. She wants to ask why? What now? She wants to scream at the injustice of it all, but she won’t.

  “I don’t know what to do.” She knows her parents are gone; she understands the finality of it, and she is devastated enough, but now her mind won’t turn off,
and it’s time to come clean.

  “You don’t have to do anything. Your parents had everything covered.” I pause to take a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m so nervous to tell her, it isn’t anything we expected to happen. “Before I left for college, your parents had papers drawn up naming me your guardian in the event anything ever happened to them.” I am waiting for her to freak out, but she’s still just staring at me, waiting for me to finish. “They made sure you would be taken care of. You’re almost eighteen. Nothing has to change for you. You can live here, finish school, whatever you need, and I’ll be here by your side.”

  “Why not your parents?” This isn’t the reaction I was expecting. I explain to her what her parents’ thoughts were. She seems to process that and surprisingly agrees with them. “What happens when you go back to school?”

  “I had a little time to think while I waited for you. I have finals next week. I’ll call my professors to get an extension. Once they’re done, I’ll transfer to wherever you go or I can start working with my dad. It’ll all work out.”

  Tears stream down her face. “Luke, what about your plans?”

  “You’re all I need. Let’s get through this one day at a time, and we’ll figure it out together. I promise I won’t leave you.” She grabs me again, and I hold her just as tightly while she breaks down again. In my arms I will always shelter her. I can’t heal this, but I can hold her through it.

  I watch over her the next few days. She isn’t breaking down, isn’t turning into herself, she seems to grow stronger with each decision being made. I don’t know if this is normal, I don’t have any experience to base it off. Each book or article I read is like a how-to guide for dealing with grief, and then in fine print it states, ‘Each person deals with grief differently, just offer your support.’ I let her take the lead and stay close in case she needs me. Each night she sleeps for a few hours with my arms around her on the couch like the first night. I’m waiting for her to come apart at the service, but she sits stoically next to me, sheds a few tears, but has a resolve of steel. She accepts the condolences of well-wishers and greets her parents’ friends with a stiff smile and hand shake. She catches me watching her several times and reassures me she is fine, but I don’t think she is. I think she is ignoring the grief. She isn’t dancing it out, so I know she is keeping it in.

  Tonight, after all of the casseroles have been stored away, instead of sitting on the couch for me to hold her she asks, “Can we go up to my room? I want to stretch out, but I don’t want to be alone.” I nod at her and follow her upstairs.

  She waits for me to climb on the bed and follows me down, climbs halfway on top of me and cuddles. It feels good to hold her, it feels like home. “Luke, I’m lost.” Her voice is so far away, and she is floundering. She doesn’t know which way is up right now, and I have to help her.

  “About what?”

  “My passion was never to dance on stage, you know that. Two weeks ago my mom took me to an audition I promised her I would go to. They’ve offered me a position with their ballet company. It’s Joffrey Ballet, out of Chicago. I feel like I owe it to my mom to try this. I don’t want to disappoint her.”

  “Twinkle, you were beautiful up there.” She opens her mouth to interrupt me. “I was there. No matter what I’ve always been there, whether you knew it or not. I don’t think you could ever disappoint your mom, but you need to do what you want to do. Follow your heart, and I’ll follow it, too.”

  I can tell she is on overload and wants to ask questions. I softly kiss her lips and pull her to me. “Go to sleep, we have our entire lives to figure it out. But just know my plan was always you. This may speed things up, but it didn’t change them. You are my life, Phoebe Wells, and I go where you go, so don’t let me factor in your decision. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Love you,” she whispers, and I hear her voice crack with emotion.

  I look down at her and speak the words I’ve never said, “I.Love.You.” I tell her so clearly and concisely there is no doubt in her mind what I mean, and for the first time in forever, I see a smile on her face as her eyes close.

  She softly whispers, “I thought I felt you . . . that day in auditions.” That leaves me confused, but before I can question her, she’s asleep.

  Chapter 8

  Phoebe

  You know when that one moment happens in life and you instantly know nothing will ever be the same? I experienced that twice this week; losing my parents irrevocably changed my life, who I was at the core. I will never be able to hear their voices, never feel their arms around me, and never be able to see the pride shining in their eyes when I do the most mundane tasks. The boy I fell in love with at four, whether I knew what love was or not, said those three words. The first time he promised to be my superhero, I fell in love with him, and that feeling has never gone away. Sometimes words can be so insignificant, but not those words, not coming from Luke. They breathed life into my soul, they mimicked every action he had done for me the past thirteen years, and they helped heal me. A little piece of me. Three tiny words wiggled their way into my being, through my veins, pumping blood to my shattered heart, and they gave me a new purpose. No matter what I did in life, I had Lucas Nichols, and I had his love.

  I am as happy as can be, but I’m feeling guilty. Guilt that I smiled so soon after burying my parents, guilt that I may sacrifice my dreams to fulfill my mom’s. I know they wouldn’t want that, but I think if she could look down and see me dancing on a stage with a prestigious ballet company, then I wouldn’t feel like I let her dream die. I don’t know how to interchange her dream for mine, but I feel like I have to try. Luke swears he will be by my side, but I worry how this will affect his dreams, his goals for life. He makes it seem like his goal is to be with me, shelter me, and love me, but I don’t want him to let go of what he envisions for his life to make me happy. Luke and Phoebe are back, and we’ll be okay. I don’t have to make any decisions right now. I have until November to decide. Six months to make a decision that could change the entire course of my life. I deferred the invitation until I was eighteen. I want this to be my decision, and I want to be able to sign that contract if it’s what I choose. I never want to place that burden on anyone else.

  There are so many other tasks at hand to deal with, or rather, for Luke to deal with. He’s adamant that I don’t have to handle anything, this is what my parents wanted, and they ensured it with every detail they laid out in their will, and by making Luke guardian and conservatorship of the money they left. I know it’s substantial, and I won’t have to worry about things for a while . . . a long while. So, I decide not to worry or dwell on the future. Live for today, and love for always. He has spoken to his professors and is supposed to go down tomorrow and take all his exams so I sent him home to study. His hesitation at leaving me broke my heart. I know he needs to pass these tests and I explained to him I could use some down time. I want to walk around my home, the only house I remember growing up in and try and soak in as much of my parents, their strengths, their beliefs, as I can. I needed them now more than ever.

  I wander into their bedroom, standing there just taking it all in. I can smell my mom’s scent, barely lingering in the air from the body spray she used. It’s faint, and I know before long it will be gone. I shut the door, hoping to trap it but I know that’s irrational. All things in life fade, but for one more second I want to hold on to this. I want my mom back; I want to hear her clap for me when I complete a dance sequence. I want to hear her funny little quotes and sayings. I want my dad here. I want to see his stupid beanie he always wore, no matter the weather. He used to tell me, “It makes me look smart.” He didn’t need that fucking beanie, he was the smartest man I knew. Calm, gentle, and quiet. If he had something to say, it was important and you had better listen. My mom, on the other hand, always had something to say, so you had to read between the lines to get her message. I want to crawl into my dad’s lap like I had so many times over the years and hear him tell m
e it would be okay, assure me that this too will pass. But it won’t. I have this gaping hole I will live with the rest of my life and the entirety and finality hits me with a crushing blow.

  I break like I never have. No pretty tears, but sobs pulled from the pit of my stomach; so hard and wracking I can’t even catch my breath. I fucking hate God right now. I don’t even feel guilty about it. Why my parents? They were good people, they loved with everything they had, challenged and nurtured me. They were relevant in my life; they gave me life and fought for it. Our journey could have made them hardened and bitter, scared for what each day would bring, but it didn’t. Instead, they embraced every moment, every success, every set back, every damn day they embraced it. No more. They’re gone. I didn’t get to say goodbye, to tell them how much I fucking loved them. I could have held their hands, I could have told them how much they meant to me, how I’ll never forget them. Instead, I have to say it to air, to a grave marker, to my destroyed heart, and I have to pray to the God I am loathing that I don’t forget them. Their smiles, their sound, and the way they made me feel each and every day. I am so afraid the memories will start to fade, and I won’t have any pieces of them. I know I was lucky; I had them in my life for seventeen years, but I can’t stop wondering why them? Why did you let me survive all those years, beat cancer, just to rip my life away in one brutal moment? Why couldn’t you have taken me all those years ago?

  I beat my hands on the hardwood floors. The pain in my chest is crushing me, unrelenting, stabbing pain, and I want it all to go away. I don’t want to live with the memories, but I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to see happy pictures, but I would do anything to see their smiling faces one more time. I don’t want to remember their encouragement, but I never want to lose the faith they had in me. I try to stand, but my knees give out leaving me huddled on the floor. I know hours pass by, and I just lie there inhaling the fragrance left in the air, the last tangible thing I have of them. That’s how Luke finds me, battered and beaten down by the events of life this past week. I came to a fork in the road today, and I tripped over every fucking root in the ground and cannot pick myself up. So he does. Just like he promised, he picks me up and gives me his legs when I can’t walk, his air when I feel like mine is being choked out of me, and he pours all the strength he has into my feeble beating heart. He wraps his arms around me and gives me every ounce of his love. It seeps out of him, enveloping me in its warmth. His love creates a barrier from the outside forces I can’t bring myself to overcome. His love will heal me; it has to because nothing else is worth it. He is silent as he carries me to my room, never saying a word as he strips me and places me underneath my covers. He takes his place right beside me and holds me throughout the night. No words are spoken because the three he said to me last night, he just proved them. With his love, it’s worth it.